


Wake Up Call

by wyntirrose



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-01
Updated: 2008-06-01
Packaged: 2017-11-10 06:34:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/463284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyntirrose/pseuds/wyntirrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wheeljack wakes up on the Ark 4 million years after the crash</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wake Up Call

I came online, my processor slowly clawing its way back to active status, and I immediately wished that I was still offline. My systems were all screaming at me for my attention with error messages and warnings, each threatening dire consequences if I didn’t deal with them immediately … meaning yesterday. I groaned as I lay on the floor. At least I thought it was the floor. It was cold and hard and metal, but it could have been a medical gurney or the ceiling for all I knew. My whole body felt wrong and I couldn’t figure out why. I didn’t remember getting into an accident or one of my experiments failing. In fact, the last thing that I did remember was boarding the Ark right before we had taken off on our search for a new energon source. Off hand, I couldn’t remember anything strange happening, and certainly nothing that would explain why I felt like I’d been crushed against a bulkhead.

Then my memory access started functioning again, and helpfully supplied me with the needed information. I _had_ been crushed against a bulkhead. I’d also been stabbed, beaten, and shot until I had finally fallen into stasis lock. I groaned again as I remembered the Decepticon attack on the Ark, and our, frankly, futile defence. We have so few true warriors among the crew that the Decepticons had easily handed us our collective afts.

So that brought up the question. Why was I coming back online? It made no sense for the Decepticons to leave us functional after a battle like the one we had. Pit, it made no sense for them to leave us functional at all. So why was I coming back online? The only explanation was that we’d been captured, and that was something I didn’t really want to deal with. The thought of a Decepticon interrogation made the fuel freeze in my lines.

Still, there was no point getting worked up when I didn’t have all the facts. And the only way to get the facts was to online my optics. I was arguing with myself about the merits and flaws of opening my optics when I felt something touch my arm. 

I can honestly say that I don’t remember crossing the floor. I must have made it in a single leap, far further and faster than I had ever moved before. I opened my optics when I heard some very familiar chuckling.

“Well, I guess you’re at least partially functional,” Ratchet said wryly.

I opened my optics and glared at Ratchet. Or at least I tried to. I always found it so hard to stay mad at him. Especially when he was smiling. So I just chuckled ruefully and shook my head.

“You know you shouldn’t scare a mech like that,” I complained, though there was no malice or anger in my tone. “You nearly stopped my pump!”

“Hmmm,” Ratchet replied thoughtfully. “Then I guess it’s a good thing there’s a medic nearby, isn’t it?”

I snorted inelegantly and shook my head again, but I couldn’t hide the grin. Sure, my battlemask hid my mouth, but I had never been good at keeping my emotions out of my vocal indicators.

“So, what happened?” I asked slowly as Ratchet helped me to my feet. “I thought that we were done for!”

“We were,” Ratchet replied simply as he continued to check me over, his gentle hands skipping over my plating and joints, making sure I was still fully functional. “Done for, I mean,” he added in a sombre tone.

My systems were starting to relax and the flood of warnings was stemming slightly, but I still felt unaccountably wrong somehow. And Ratchet’s last comment wasn’t helping to put me at ease at all.

“Wait! What do you mean, we were?” I asked. “And why do I feel like a Guardian trampled me? Nothing’s coming through quite right. I feel like … I don’t know … like I’m in the wrong body somehow.”

Ratchet’s only response was to look up at me. I knew that look. I knew it far too well. Professional, guarded, cool. It meant that he was hiding something from me because he thought it was for my own good.

“I know that look Ratch. Don’t give me that look. It doesn’t work on me,” I said, levelling a glare at my best friend. “You’re hiding something and doing a leaking poor job of it too.”

I looked around and for the first time noticed that I wasn’t alone in the room. All around there were the deactivated forms of the other Autobts in various states of disrepair. Some looked as if they were just slightly banged up, while others had been completely dismantled.

“What happened?” I asked, my voice a whisper as I twisted around to take in all the destruction that I had somehow missed before.

“You don’t remember.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I remember the ‘Cons attacking the ship. I remember us getting our afts handed to us,” I replied slowly. For some reason, Ratchet’s simple statement put me on edge. I should remember, and his tone implied that I should as well. “Beyond that … beyond that I don’t remember anything.”

Ratchet was silent, his lips pressed in a thin line. I didn’t like it when he got like this. It meant that he had information that I didn’t. More importantly, it meant that he had information that he didn’t want to share with me.

“Ratchet! Enough with the silent treatment!” I cried, my panic beginning to take over. “Just tell me what happened for Primus’ sake! Quit with the for-your-own-good silent treatment!”

“Calm down!” he ordered, his voice a whisper so it came out more like a hiss than his normal sharp tone. “And keep your voice down!”

“Then tell me what happened!” I hissed. “This wasn’t all caused by the ‘Cons and they sure as the Pit is corrosive didn’t leave us even this close to functional!”

Ratchet looked down at the floor and cleared his vents softly but didn’t say anything. I took him by the shoulders and looked up at him.

“Tell me what happened,” I said imploringly. “It can’t possibly be that bad.”

Ratchet looked at me for a long moment before he finally gave up and agreed to tell me what was going on.

“We were losing the battle so Prime did the only thing he could. He crashed the Ark,” Ratchet said.

“Okay, that makes sense, and it explains all the damage. A lot of this looks like crash damage rather than battle damage,” I replied, my tone encouraging him to go on, because so far, this wasn’t that bad.

Ratchet didn’t say anything. No elaboration. No dropping of a bomb. Nothing. I pursed my lips and didn’t try to keep my annoyance from my vocal indicators.

“What? That’s it?” I exclaimed irritably. “Ratch, that’s nothing! You had me worried over nothing!”

I let go of his shoulders and turned away to start helping him get the rest of the crew online, but Ratchet’s next words stopped me cold.

“We’ve been offline for over forty-eight thousand vorns,” he said. His voice was so soft that I almost thought I had imagined it – that, maybe I had heard some other noise and my still-addled processor had interpreted it as words.

“What?” I whispered as I turned back to him.

“When we crashed we all fell offline,” he replied, never looking at me. “We’ve been non-functional for forty-eight thousand vorns. We can’t reach Cybertron and we’ve unleashed the Decepticons on this innocent world.”

“I … what?” I asked. 

I think this was one of the few times in my life that I had been struck speechless. This news was impossible. I tried to rationalize it, to tell myself that Ratchet was mistaken. But when I got my internal chronometer working again and synched back up to Teletran-One, everything was confirmed. I fell back a few steps, my equilibrium momentarily thrown off by the shock.

“We’ve been offline for fo-”

“Stop!” I said, holding up my hands and interrupting Ratchet. “Just stop. I heard you the first time. I don’t need to hear it again.”

I scrubbed my battle mask with my hand – a nervous tick I’d picked up somewhere – and looked up at Ratchet.

“So,” I said slowly, “what does all this mean?”

Ratchet was quiet for a long time before he spoke again.

“I don’t know. All I know is that we have to get everyone functional again. Optimus is online already and is scouting out the rest of the ship. And Teletran-One has found alt-modes for us all so we can hide among the natives until …,” he trailed off and looked lost.

“Until what?” I asked, knowing what the answer was going to be. I didn’t want to hear it – that would just make all of this real – but at the same time, I knew I had to hear my fears put into words.

“I don’t know,” Ratchet shrugged. “I don’t know if there’s anything left beyond this. I don’t even know if Cyberton’s even-”

“Look, whatever comes next, we’ll deal with it,” I replied, interrupting him. I did _not_ want him finishing that thought. “I mean, after all, we’ve been in some pretty tough binds in the past and we’ve always come out on top, right?”

Ratchet just snorted at me, obviously not convinced at all.

“Just … let’s just get everyone online again and move on from there,” I said, trying to swallow back my fear and concern. It wouldn’t help anyone if Ratchet got into a funk, and that was exactly where he was heading.

I took him gently by the arm and pulled him into a brotherly hug.

“We’ll get through this,” I whispered into his audio. “Don’t let a few vorns get you down.”

“Right,” Ratchet replied, a sullen tone still hiding in his tone, as he pulled out of the embrace.

“Primus, you always were a grump after a long recharge,” I said, keeping my tone as light as possible.

He just shot me a dark look. But I had known him for long enough to recognize the glimmer of humour in his optics. It would be all right. Once we got everyone back online and functional, once we were all back together, it would be okay. We’d deal with the consequences of this little unplanned nap later.


End file.
